Seasons and Things
by PrsctrTails
Summary: A Jeremy/Damon friendship piece. Because food is a great way to bond.


And finally, the meal was over and everyone had floated away to whatever it was they did after gorging on food that was so unhealthy it kind of made Jeremy feel bad. The resident couples of the house had departed for painfully contrived activites. Normally Jeremy would have been out somewhere with Tyler, but his werewolf beau was trapped in escapable family formality. That was majorly annoying.

Shrugging it all off, and feeling like he'd probably have to jog to lower Kentucky to burn off maybe half the calories of the meal, Jeremy sort of waddled up to his room, the effects of too much cornbread weighing humorously on him. Sore stomach and all, he plopped into bed, headphones quickly on.

It had been such a wonderful evening, really. The food, the for once non-dramatic family, everyone had seemed so...not bothered. It was downright out of place. Mystic Falls was supposed to be drama and insanity and oddly copious amounts of blood. Not togetherness and bonding and calmness. It all just seemed a little daft.

Smiling just a little, Jeremy eased his eyes shut as a new song cycled on. It was the oft-played _I Blade Runner Blues_. It was pure 80s Neo-Noir goodness, but it was catchy in a gritty yet jazzy instrumental, smoke-filled room sort of way. He quickly found himself beyond relaxed. How could he not? He liked that mental descriptor. Gritty yet jazzy. It reminded him of..well, he wasn't sure. Mystic Falls was plenty gritty, but not really jazzy. By his best guess, jazzy was hard to quantify. That's something someone like Damon would know.

_Huh_

Color him oddly unobservant, but Jeremy hadn't seen Damon all day. That was normal, but this was Thanksgiving. He figured even Damon would make a dick-ish stop by the Gilbert residence. But no, he hadn't. Odd. Jeremy hadn't pegged Damon as someone to pass up a free chance to maybe ruin a dinner.

As the song's alternating sharp and mellow tones danced through the headphones, Jeremy found himself utterly distracted. Surely Damon hadn't spent the whole day alone? That was, well, a pretty horrible thought. And honestly, it was a thought that Jeremy knew would gnaw at him all night, and maybe for the rest of his life.

Easing up from the bed, Jeremy went back down the stairs and into the kitchen. He meticulously dragged leftovers out of the fridge and carefully made a few sandwiches with the turkey and put everything else into styrofoam bowls. After that, he loaded his handywork into an oddly suspiciously looking brown paper bag, a remnant of his druggie days.

As he strode out to his beloved car, found by Damon and bought by Tyler, he realized that Tyler calling him 'bighearted' was entirely correct.

The drive was weirdly long. Jeremy wasn't entirely sure what to say. Should he just leave the food on the doorstep? No, it might spoil, and that seemed tragically uninspired. Besides, he did want to make sure Damon wasn't in some sort of foul modd that would result in several new Missing Persons cases. Jeremy grumbled to himself, never liking it when he didn't have the words for something.

As his SUV pulled up to the Salvatore residence, Jeremy decided to play it by ear. After all, Damon was a Devil May Care vampire. What good was planning? He parked and noticed Damon's gorgeous Camaro, which happily looked blood and intestine free. That was a nice sign. Though, that didn't mean there wouldn't be an orgy of violence inside the manor. Using the keys he had 'borrowed' from Elena, Jeremy let himself inside.

Honestly, he really didn't like the house that much. Sure, it was pretty and archaic in a good way, but it was still really creepy. Like something from _Gone With The Wind_, only unnerving. He didn't see any sign of Damon, though he wasn't going to look too hard.

He sat the bag down somewhere in the kitchen and left a short note, something he was sure was nice and conveyed his well-wishes. To his chagrin, his hand was on the doorknob when the whole perfect scheme came to a crashing halt.

"What is this, Jeremy?"

"Umm... I don't know." Jeremy answered honestly.

"Then why are you doing it?" Damon asked, still having not looked in the bag.

"It happens that I'm bighearted." Jeremy shrugged. He noticed that the vamp hadn't shaved in a few days, and thus had stubble. It was weird for the always perfect looking Damon. Even more obvious was the smell of Bourbon and Scotch that had filled the manor.

Damon leaned slightly and opened the bag, his face neutral. Jeremy had actually found the courage to walk over and explain.

"You didn't show up for dinner, even though I'm pretty sure you were invited," Jeremy began, hoping all this didn't sound as lame as he thought it did. "And we had too much food. So...there you go."

Damon's attention shifted from the bag to Jeremy and back again. "Thanks." He drawled, voice sort of flat. Jeremy took that as a victory.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Damon." Jeremy said, before turning on his heels to leave. Actually, by the time Jeremy had fully turned around, Damon was smack in front of him. Jeremy gulped.

"...Thank you," Damon said, voice inbetween a breath and a whisper. If Jeremy didn't know any better, he could have sworn Damon was being sincere. It was equal parts touching and rare. "So, what did you and your Mutt do to celebrate?"

"_Tyler_ didn't get to make it," Jeremy groused, still a little mad. "I was stuck with Elena and Stefan all night."

"Bleh," Damon chuckled, turning back to the kitchen to grab a sandwich from the bag. Though he said nothing, he gestured for Jeremy to take a seat. Which he did. "I'm amazed you survived. I'm sure it was overdramatic and full of brooding."

"I was texting Tyler under the table the whole time," Jeremy admitted, pulling his phone out of his pocket and sliding it over. Damon scanned through the messages, eyebrows dancing in delight.

"You two are gross," Damon laughed, a little proud of some of the very risque vocabulary the two teens knew. It was a little blush inducing. "So, did Elena or Stefan send you over with my leftovers?"

"No," Jeremy answered as Damon took a bite into his sandwich. "I'm just a nice guy."

"Yeah, you are," Damon nodded. Curiously, he took a glance down at the clock on Jeremy's phone. It was only 11:55. Therefore, by the grace of Jeremy Gilbert, he was having Thanksgiving Dinner. He reached up and ruffled Jeremy's hair, not wanting to ruin his own happiness with words.


End file.
